Only the Dead Wait
by itsravensfault
Summary: Lestrade dies and in his afterlife he meets someone that was very special to him in his younger years. Mystrade, Sherlock/John
1. Chapter 1

**Okay this is something that I really wanted to do for a while. First I had it written up in a note book then I didn't like that version, so I started a different one. I hope you all like Mystrade because that's what this story is about. I really am bad at summaries so the one you got in the description is what you get. Also I would like to mention that there may seem to be a bit of Mycroft/John but there isn't, it's really just them comforting each other when they're sad. So I hope you enjoy this lovely story. See ya.**

Gregory Lestrade woke up disoriented, he could tell which way was up or what was happening to him. He felt like he was submerged under water, his eyes stung if he kept them open long and no air could reach his lungs. It sounded as if water was rushing pass his ears. But he wasn't in water at all, he was lying in a bed in a white room.

Over the roar in his ears he could hear the faint call of his name. He tried to see where the voice was coming from but he couldn't see more than two inches in front of his face.

"Lestrade you need to lean forward," a louder voice said to his left.

Greg felt warm hands on his back, he was pushed up off the bed so he was hugging his knees. Something hard was shoved in between his legs, he didn't know what it was but he clutched to it for dear life.

"Okay, Lestrade, you're going to feel a slight pain in your back and chest," the man told him. "After a minute you'll start to vomit all the water up in your lungs. I want you to get most of it in to the bucket. Do you understand?"

Greg nodded silently pulling the bucket closer to his chest. A second later he felt a pinpoint prick in his back, he could feel the needle slide through his insides making him want to squirm. Never before was he able to feel a shot like this one before.

HIs lungs suddenly felt cold, he still couldn't breathe but his vision was clearing up and the loud noise was fading out.

The man came around Greg's front, he had blond hair and wore a white lab coat. "You can see me now right, and hear me well?" he asked.

Greg nodded. He felt something rising in his throat, he took on the look of dread as water came pouring out of his mouth in to the bucket.

Lestrade felt the warm hand again on his back rubbing soothing circles. He stopped long enough to look up at the man who fixed his problems. "What did you do?" he asked after he found his voice once more.

"I injected fluid in to your lungs to get the Thames out of there," he told him with a smile.

"The Thames?" Greg questioned. "What happened to me, am I in the hospital?"

The guy shook his head. "No Gregory Lestrade you are not in the hospital," he told him. "You're in a place called L.A.D. that stands for 'Life After Death'. I'm sorry to inform you Lestrade but you died. Earlier this morning at 4:58 you were tied up by a criminal and tossed in to the Thames. Unfortunatly no one was able to get to you on time and you drowned."

Greg stared at him in complete silence as he tried to process everything that was just said to him. He felt more water rise up in his throat, he leaned over the bucket to empty himself like a water fountain. "What do you mean I'm dead?" he asked once he was finished. "I can't be dead I have a family waiting for me at home. I have a job to go to, I have to look after Sherlock so he doesn't kill himself. I have to many responsibilities to be dead."

"I'm sorry..." the blond started but Greg cut him off.

"Is this some kind of joke?" he asked angrily. "Because if it is, this is some sick joke."

"It's not a jo-..."

Greg hit the yellow bucket tucked between his legs. "I want to speak to your superior," he demanded in a voice that usually sent his subordinates running with their tails between their legs.

The man bowed in response. "Very well," he said before walking out of the room.

-

"He wants to speak with you sir," he said when he walked in to a room overlooking Greg's room.

The taller man turned to look at him then back to the white room bellow. "It will give him a shock if I show up down there," he told him.

The shorter man walked up to him to place his hand on his shoulder. "He said he wanted to see you Mycroft," he told him in a calming voice.

Mycroft covered the hand on his shoulder. "I know John," he sighed. "You may go do what you want, I can handle everything from here."

John slid his hand down the older man's arm with a smile. "I'll see you later than," he said.

"Bye," Mycroft said. He took a few minutes before he left to look at a picture that never left his side. He sighed, sliding the photo back into his pocket as he walked out of the room.

Mycroft knocked on the door. He didn't get an answer, he placed his hand on the knob. He leaned on it heavily taking in a deep breath to calm himself down. He slowly turned the handle and entered the cold room. "You wanted to see me?" he asked to get Greg's attention.

Greg looked up from his hands with his mouth opened but stopped before words could even exit his mouth. "My-Mycroft?" he was in utter disbelief. "But you're..."

"Dead?" Mycroft kept his voice in a normal professional tone. "Yes I am dead and as my colleague already told you, so are you."

Greg stood from the bed balancing himself on wobbly knees. "How are you here?" he asked reaching his hand out to touch him, he stopped before he could. "Is this a dream?"

Mycroft shook his head. "This is no dream," he whispered to him. "Do you wish it was a dream?"

"No," Greg breathed heavily, "because if this was a dream then I'll wake up and you'll disappear. Thursday was the day you died, Sherlock and I were gong to bring flowers to your grave and John's."

Mycroft nodded, he knew all about what Greg was going to do the next day. He always went to watch along with John. "So do believe that no one is playing a joke on you?" he asked.

Greg turned away from him running shaky fingers through his gray hair. "If I am dead then that means everyone who relied on me when I was alive will be affected," he argued. "I don't want to be dead. I want to wake up from this dream." Mycroft lightly touched his shoulder. Greg turned on him with tears in his eyes. "I knew a long time ago that I would never see you again. I figured it out, I moved on. I have a beautiful partner and two beautiful children, something that you failed to give me. Jamie never left me, Jamie never died on me." His face was red with anger, anger that has been harboring inside of him for twenty years.

"Gregory," the name dropped out of Mycroft's mouth.

"No," Greg yelled clutching his head. "Don't say my name. I don't want you to say my name. I will wake up and everything will be back to normal."

"It's not a dream," Mycroft reminded him. "You will not wake up on earth in the morning. Your life has ended."

"I'm only 39," Greg hollered.

"I was only 19," Mycroft yelled back, loosing his temper for the first time in years. "I had a whole life ahead of me. One man, one evil, rotten, little man took it all away from me. That's all it takes Greg, one small thing to take a life."

Greg watched as Mycroft breathed heavily through his nose. He looked down at his bare feet crying. "I want to be alone," he mumbled collapsing on the bed..

Mycroft nodded, he understood exactly what he was going through. "I'll leave your information here by the door," he told him as he walked out.

Greg drove his palm in to his eyes, he screamed to get the pressure that was on his heart off. He didn't want to be here, he didn't want to believe all of this was real. He didn't have to believe it was all real.

He ran his rough fingers down his face, he lifted his head off the mattress and looked towards the door. He rolled off the bed on to his feet, doing his best he stumbled over to the door. He grabbed the clipboard, there was only one thing that caught his eye. A small photo that he recognized, it was Mycroft and him. He had his arm around Mrycroft's shoulder, both of them almost falling over with huge grins on their faces, he was only in a pair of red swim trunks and Mycroft was in a suit.

He remembered the day it was taken perfectly. Mycroft was on his way home from a debate, his mother wanted a nice picture of her son in all his glory. Sadly they stopped by the local park with the only pond to swim in during the hottest day of the year.

Greg was swimming in the pond, he caught a glimpse of his boyfriend right before he bolted it out of the water. He ran all the way over to Mycroft barrelling in to his side, latching himself to the other's neck.

Mrs. Holmes was angry with him but she got her picture of Mycroft and allowed him to accompany them home. She even gave them both copies of the photo.

Greg lost his in a fire a few years after Mycroft's death. He ran his finger over the picture looking at the stains of blood and the small hole right above the two boy's head.

A tear rolled down his cheek, he didn't want to remember things like that, it brought back all the pain and sorrow of Mycroft's death. He's spent years repressing all of them, except on the day of his death. On that day he would hang out with Sherlock, he would go back to the flat Sherlock somehow got and fall asleep drunk on the couch.

He dropped the photo in the front pocket on the dressing gown he was wearing. He looked over the rest of the clipboard reading the information. There was an electronic map with red dots on it, one for the place where he would be staying , another one was for a place called the E.V. room.

He scanned over it trying to find how it worked, there was a question mark in the corner. He pushed it making instructions pop up. He read over them figuring it out that the map was voice activated, all he had to do was say what he wanted and it would show him where he could find it.

"Door," he said aloud to test it. Thousands of blue dots showed up, they were almost covering up the whole map. "Coffee." The blue dots disappeared only to be replaced with different blue dots.

He clicked on one of the blue dots, a picture of a coffee shop came up and a red line from where he was to the shop.

Greg stared at the whole map in awe. "Clear," he muttered. He tapped the red dot for E.V. room. Information on it came up. "Earth Viewing room?" He read about the place, he figured out it was a place you could go to watch people you knew on earth.

He walked out of the room following the red line on the map. He was going to the E.V. room, he was going to see his wife and children. He was going to see them for the last time because he knew this was real.

-

Lestrade stepped in to one of the small rooms with little television's in them. He pulled out the plush chair before sitting. He moaned as his back cracked back in place. He was getting to old for comfy chairs.

He looked over the television for some way to turn it on, in the left hand corner there was a small button. He pushed it making the screen come to life.

"Welcome to Earth Viewing Television," a woman's voice sounded out of the speakers, "we are here to help you watched your loved ones back on earth. Just say the name of the person you want to view and you'll be on your way."

"Jamie Lestrade," he grumbled.

"Very well," the voice said, "I hope you enjoy your time."

The TV went dark then as if it was going through space it zoomed pass a bunch of pictures. It stopped in Greg's living room, he could see his wife sitting across from Sherlock.

He watched as Sherlock rung something in his hands. "Mrs. Lestrade I'm sorry," he said sounding like he was seconds away from tears.

"How did this happen?" Jamie asked. Greg could hear the way she struggled to get words out of her mouth.

Sherlock took in a shakey breath. "I told him that I was going to..."

"So this is your fault?" Jamie yelled, she slammed her hands down on the coffee table.

"No," Greg yelled back, it wasn't Sherlock's fault that he was dead. It was his own stupidity, Sherlock told him not to interfere with his side job and he did any way. "Honey just listen to him, let him explain." He knew that Sherlock was going through a lot, he just lost he only living friend. He was going to be a reck like he was after John's and Mycroft's death, except this time Greg won't be there to take the pain away or to keep him out of trouble.

"I told him not to follow me," Sherlock told her keeping his head down. "He was an idiot and didn't listen to me, like always."

Greg smiled, Sherlock was still insulting him, somehow that made him feel better. Jamie on the other hand didn't like that. Her face turned to pure anger. "My husbands dead and you think it would be alright to insult him in front of me?" she yelled.

Jordan, his son, walked out of his bedroom with tears in his eyes. "Daddy's dead?" he asked, his lower lip was quivering.

Jamie stood up from the couch. She walked over to him wrapping her arms around his shaking form. "Yes sweety," she whispered in his ear.

Greg suddenly felt about two tons of weight dropped on his chest. Never in a million years would he have wished his six year old son to say those words.

Sherlock stood up ram rod straight getting both of their attention. "Like I said, I am sorry for the lost of Lestrade," he stated his voice back to its normal unemotional state. "If it's any consolation I did my best to save him. I would have even given my life if he would have lived."

Greg couldn't take it any more, he wiped his watering eyes then shut of the TV. He stood from the chair,hurridly he exited the room. He ran down a few halls passing groups of people. He ran til his legs gave way, he toppled to the floor.

He slid his way over to the edge of the wall. He pulled out his map. "Home," he muttered. All that showed up was his new place in L.A.D., he shook his head vigorously. "Home," he cried louder, it just showed the same thing. He hit the map with his palm. He dropped his head on to his knees sobbing. "Not that home, my home, my real home."

-

Greg wasn't sure how long he was sobbing on the floor, he didn't want to know how long he was sitting there. He just wanted to go home so he would be able to tell his wife that it all was a bad dream and he never drowned.

"You know I did the same thing when I died," Mycroft's voice came from his right.

Greg jumped, he lifted his glossy red eyes up to meet his. "I thought I said I wanted to be alone," he snapped angrily.

Mycroft casted his eyes down with a shake of his head. "I know that you don't really want to be alone," he told him. He leaned against the wall, sliding down it he sat next to Greg. "You're still cold."

Greg buried his head in his arms. "Go away," he mumbled. From the warmth radiating off of Mycroft he knew he didn't listen.

Mycroft shook his head. "I know you don't want to be alone right now," he told him confidently. "I know how you can make yourself worse by beating yourself over things like this."

"Mycroft if you talking about the time I accidentally ran over my dog I will hurt you," Lestrade groveled. "And if you hadn't noticed this isn't the same thing."

"I know," he sighed. "All I'm saying is that you shouldn't be alone when you're feeling like crap you always end up in a bad place."

"Crap?" he repeated. "I have never heard you say the word crap before," Greg told him, his lips curling up momentarily.

"To much time with John I suppose," Mycroft stated. "Greg please just accept my company for now til you get, happier I guess is the right word to use here."

They both were silent as Mycroft let Greg think over what he proposed. Greg finally nodded agreeing with him. He looked back up at Mycroft who was looking at him with sad eyes but a small smile gracing his lips. Greg leaned quickly towards him encircling his arms around his neck. He buried his face in to his shoulder taking in a huge breath. "I wish you never died," he cried.

Mycroft was taken aback but quickly recovered, he wrapped his arm's around the other's back. He rubbed circles on his back comforting him as best he could. It reminded him of the night he took John out of the party. "I wish I never died too," he told him. "But I did die, look what you got without me. You had Jamie that you loved, someone to look after you when you were sick, then your children, they both look so much like you, both are so beautiful."

Greg shook his head like a stubborn child. "I would have traded it all to have you back," he told him. He started to pound on his chest with his fists. "I tried so hard to forget you Mycroft Holmes, but my heart didn't let me."

Mycroft caught the calloused hands in his own. "Gregory Vincent Lestrade, I don't think you would have traded your family to bring back an old boyfriend. Especially one that was never around."

"You don't understand My," Greg told him in a desperate tone, "I was fine with only seeing you whenever you got home. Remember that one night that I snuck in after midnight because I wanted to see you after you went to America? I loved that night."

Mycroft chuckled deeply, he loved when Greg called him by his nickname. "I can't remember much of that night," he admitted. "I remember being really tired and almost hitting you with my cricket bat."

Greg laughed as he nodded his head. He then went quiet. Mycroft could feel the man shaking in his arms. "Greg what's wrong?"

Greg buried himself deeper in to Mycroft's neck. "Jordan forced me to watch cricket every time it was on," he sobbed. "I didn't want to watch it but I would always grab a few pieces of my paperwork and go sit out on the couch with him."

Mycroft nodded, he ran a hand down the back of Greg's gray hair. "Yeah, didn't he notice you weren't paying attention to the game?" he asked trying to get Greg to speak.

Greg shook his head no with a laugh. He lifted his head off of Mycroft's shoulder with a small smile. "That's the funny thing, he got so in to the game that he forgot about me," he told him. "Just in case though I would cheer when he did and holler insults when he got mad."

"How about your daughter?" he asked softly. "Does she have any thing she likes that she makes you do?"

"She likes to make me go to here tea parties," Greg said. "Whenever I was home on the weekends she would grab my finger with her pudgy little hands to drag me to her pretty pink room.

'Daddy, Ms. Lovely would like to have tea with you again,' she would tell me."

"Ms. Lovely?" Mycroft questioned, a smile coming to his face.

"Ms. Lovely was a pig who had a crush on me," Greg informed him. "She liked me because I was fat."

Mycroft laughed, Greg wasn't fat but to a two year old everything about him was big. "You must love them to let them do that to you," he told him. "And your wife of course."

"Jamie is a great wife and mother," Greg stated with an affirmative tone. "All though her cooking wasn't as good as mine." He looked up at Mycroft biting his lip so he wouldn't start laughing again.

Mycroft nodded, he remember Greg's cooking, it was always something spicy. He loved every dish he served. He also remembered that if he tried to cook it would usually end up burnt sticking to the bottom of whatever he cooked it in. "You seem to be attracted to horrible cooks," he joked.

"Well you don't know how to cook," Greg pointed out, "Jamie can't cook, there's a difference."

Mycroft chuckled softly. He checked his watch, he whistled at how long they were staying out in the hall. "Hey I think you should head to your place," he told the other man. "You have somethings there that you might want to look through."

"Like what?" Greg asked leaning in to Mycroft's side.

"The clothes you died in," he informed him, "what you had in your pockets. All that kind of stuff."

"What if I don't want any of those things?" Greg asked tiredly. "I really don't want to be reminded about today."

Mycroft nodded slowly, he flicked out his phone sending a text off to someone. "You still need to go home," he told him.

"Don't say that word," Greg moaned. "Say place of stay instead."

"Okay," Mycroft sighed. "You still need to go to your place of stay so you can sleep."

Greg shook his head. "I don't want to be alone," he told him. "I don't think I can handle it just yet."

Mycroft sighed again. "I'm sure John won't mind if you stay over," he said standing up. He held his hand out for Greg to take. "If you will follow me then I will take you to my place of stay."

Greg smiled taking his hand. "Your hands are soft," he pointed out, "do you still have people doing stuff for you?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes while he pulled the tired man behind him.

-

Greg laid down on the couch as Mycroft told him to. He curled up in the blanket that was handed to him almost asleep already. "Mycroft," he whispered with his eyes shut.

"Hm?" Mycroft hummed getting closer.

Greg positioned himself better on the couch. "Thank you," he mumbled before falling asleep.

Mycroft smiled, he leaned down to place a gently kiss on the man's cheek before he walked to the kitchen.

"How is he doing?" John asked leaning against the blue counter.

Mycroft ran his hands over his face, he kept them there when he said, "He's going up and down with his emotions. One minutes he's depressed the next he's happy." He looked at John through his fingers only to see him frowning towards him. "I don't know what to do, he's nothing like you when we came here."

"Well he's not a young man like I was," John pointed out. "He doesn't feel the urge to party his feelings out."

"Or be drunk 24/7," Mycroft added.

John lifted his cup in agreement. "The best thing you can do for him Mycroft is to let him do what he needs to do to feel better but don't let him get to bad," he told him.

Mycroft nodded, he knew that would be the right thing to do. "John, sometimes you can be very insightful," he stated, "other times I don't think you have any clue what you're talking about."

"That's what a kangaroo's for," John laughed lifting his mug up again. "So where are you sleeping tonight?"

Mycroft looked down at their counter top running his fingers against the cold granite. He then looked back up at the blond with a fragile smile. "Can I sleep in your room?" he asked like a child would ask their parent's on a stormy night.

"Come on," he told him placing his cup in the sink. "Tomorrow will be better."

"I do hope you're right," Mycroft mumbled.

** So what did I tell you? Is it lovely? Oh and I might want to add, I love Mycroft but I don't think I do a good job with his character, of course that won't stop me from writing this story at all, I think I like it too much for that. Okay now I'm giving you the viewers the reigns on this story. You can review and tell me if you want the next chapter to be the next day, the funeral, or a memory from their past. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening, or day or whatever you call what is happening outside with the sun and the moon, is wonderful. BYE!**


	2. August 16

**Hello everybody, I hope you're enjoying yourself. I have the new chapter up as you can tell. It's right here. I do hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Any way have fun reading it. See ya.**

Gregory Lestrade was walking down the street making sure he didn't bump in to any one on the bustling street. He was on his way home from the store where he was supposed to pick up beans for dinner that night.

The moment his mum said they needed beans he volunteered. His mother didn't want him to go out on his own but he told her that he was fifteen and he would be alright. She thought about it for a moment before giving in.

Now he was having such a fun time walking around town on his own. He was excited because got to tell the people he usually saw that he was old enough to go places alone.

He was brought from his thoughts harshly as a little kid ran in to him. Greg stumbled backwards before gaining his footing.

The kid laughed as he ran away. Greg saw his wallet in his hands, he growled launching himself in to the crowd of people to catch him. He kept him in sight pushing his way through the people making them curse at him.

The kid reached the end of the sidewalk, he was about to cross the street when a car drove by in front of him. Greg grabbed him by the collar yanking him out of the way of the car.

"What do you think you're doing" Greg hollered keeping a firm grip on the small kid.

"I'm trying to have a walk," the kid said through his struggle. "Let me go."

Greg missed the kick that was aimed for a very delicate area. "Give me back my wallet and I will," he told him.

"Sherlock Holmes," a voice yelled over the dull roar of the crowd. A boy who looked about Greg's age walked from the crowd over to the two boys. "Father's coming for you."

"Like I care Mycroft," Sherlock huffed.

Mycroft looked down at his brother with a stern look. "Sorry for my brother's inconvenience," he said bringing his eyes up to meet Greg's. "What has he done to make you mad?"

"This little snot nose brat stole my wallet," Greg stated, he shook Sherlock for good measure.

"I'm not a brat I'm thirteen," Sherlock fought.

"Doesn't mean you can't be a brat," Greg shot back.

Mycroft ignored the banter as he looked over his brother's form. He tisked when he noticed what was on his feet. He crouched down so he could reach the boots better. "Sherlock you made one mistake," he said as he reached in to the boot, "and that is you wore your old pirate boots out today. You know you can't lie to me."

"Yes I can," Sherlock told him. He gave up fighting now that he no longer had the money. "I told you yesterday that I thought you lost weight."

Mycroft shut his lids so no one saw him roll his eyes. "I..."

"Sherlock Fredrik Holmes," another voice said. Everyone turned to see a tall slender man walking up to them. He continued speaking in a soft tone, "Sometimes you are so stupid." He took the small boy's caller from Greg who just stared at the man. "We're going."

"I will catch up with you," Mycroft told him.

The man waved his hand as he practically dragged Sherlock away. Mycroft turned back to Greg who was looking at him with questioning eyes. "Mycroft Holmes," he said holding out his hand.

"Gregory Lestrade," Greg informed him with a small smile. It faltered for a second as he asked, "Was that your dad?"

Mycroft turned around to look in the direction that his family had left. "Yes why?" he asked.

Greg shrugged his shoulders. "Well I didn't know that dad's called their sons stupid," he said. Mycroft looked at him with his eyebrows raised as he thought. "What did he do any way, to get in to trouble?"

"He jumped out of the car when we were slowing down," Mycroft told him. "Why are you concerned with what my father calls my sometimes idiotic brother?"

Greg let out a low whistle, or one that sounded like a whistle, it wasn't his fault he didn't know how to whistle. "That is a little stupid," he told himself quietly. He looked Mycroft in the eyes but looked away quickly. He didn't like the way he was being looked at. "I'm not concerned, all I'm saying is that's not how my dad treats me. I jumped off our roof once, broke my leg and he asked me if I was alright before taking to see a doctor."

Mycroft turned his nose up in to the air. "My father has to keep his public image on good terms, he can't have one of his children going around muddling his name," he stated like he's said that so many times before. He held out the wallet for the raven hair teen to take. "Nice meeting you Gregory."

Greg looked in the wallet to make sure nothing was taken out of it. Luckily it still had the change from he beans in it. He also noticed a piece of paper in it. He took it out so he could read it.

'You seem okay, if you ever want to hang out and be friends just call this number, Mycroft Holmes,' it read.

He looked up to see if Mycroft was still around. He didn't see the other boy any where. He looked down at the number biting his lip, he slipped it in to his pocket, he probably wasn't going to call it any way.

-

Greg opened his eyes to find himself in his room, not being chased by dragons who had tongues as swords. He sat up slowly trying to calm his breathing. He climbed out of his bed aware of every noise that was going on.

He made his way down the stairs as quietly as he could so he wouldn't wake his folks. He cringed when his feet hit the cold floor of the kitchen. He walked quickly to the freezer, he took out the ice cream setting it down on the counter.

He prepared himself a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream with extra chocolate. He put it down on the table before he turned to pick up the phone. He dialed a number and waited for someone to pick up.

It rang for a few seconds and Greg was going to give up, then the ringing stopped. "Hello?" a groggy voice said from the other end.

Greg took the phone off his ear to check the number. He placed it back near his head and stated, "You're not my Uncle Bradely."

"Yes, I'm probably thinking the same thing," he said still sounding sleepy. "Why would you be calling your uncle at 3:39 in the morning?"

"Who is this?" Greg asked.

"You called me, shouldn't I be the one asking the questions?" he asked. "I'm Mycroft, we met the other week on the street after my brother stole from you."

Greg nodded, he remembered now. "Well, I guess I'll let you go back to sleep."

"No," Mycroft told him quickly, then added, "I can't go back to sleep after someone wakes me up."

"Oh," Greg said, he looked around nervously for no apparent reason. "Then I'll just hang up and you can do whatever you want over there."

"Or you can tell me why you're calling your uncle so early in the morning," Mycroft suggested.

"It's nothing," Greg lied. He waited for Mycroft to say something, he didn't. He sighed heavily dropping his spoon in to the bowl of ice cream. He took a huge bit of it then let it melt in his mouth before he spoke. "I had a bad dream, usually when I have a bad dream I call my uncle, he works late so he's up at this time."

"Ah," Mycroft let out. Greg was sure he hung up on him. "And what was this bad dream about?"

Greg took another bite. He felt a little uncomfortable telling a person he barely knew about his nightmare. "I," he paused taking in another bite. "I don't think I should tell you."

Mycroft was still quiet for a minute. "I was at a carnival eating a bag full of candy, that was before a huge clown took it from me," he told Greg. "I chased after him as best I could, I had wires for legs so I wasn't very fast. I eventually caught up to him and it turned out to be my brother and his friend."

Greg stared at the kitchen wall unsure as what to say. "Um..." he muttered out.

"That was the dream you woke me up from," Mycroft told him. "Now that I shared my dream with you, maybe you could do the same."

"Okay," he sighed. He finished off the last bite of ice cream and said, "There were these dragons, big red scary looking dragons with swords for tongues."

"That does sound scary," Mycroft cut in playfully.

Greg smiled, he was getting more comfortable with him. "At first they were all kept behind cages and the people paid to see them," he told. "When I went for the first time no one else was there. I walked around looking at the dragon's until I heard this big noise."

Mycroft cut in again, "What kind of noise?"

"It sounded like metal breaking," Greg explained. "Any way I looked behind me and their was a dragon chasing me. I started to run as more of the dragons escaped. I looked behind me one last time and ran off a cliff. That's when I woke up."

"That does sound quiet frightening," Mycroft told him.

Greg looked down at his lap. "It was," he chuckled. He scratched the back of his head nervously. "If you want I can hang up now."

Mycroft laughed. "No, no if you hang up I'll lose all my entertaining things," he told him. "We can talk more, if you'd like to of course."

"I would," Greg to him, "but we don't know each other so we have nothing to talk about."

"That's where you're wrong Gregory," Mycroft tells him smoothly. "We have everything to talk about."

Greg scrunched up his face trying to think of something to talk about. "Like what?" he finally gave up.

He heard Mycroft sigh on the other end of the line. "What does your house look like?" he asked.

"It looks like a house," Greg asnwered sarcastically. "It's white with grass in the front and the back. Oh and it's also near the street."

Mycroft laughed louder than before. "Is that so," he questioned. "That's interesting, does it have secret passage ways?"

"No," he said.

"Well I do," Mycroft told him proudly. "My little brother and I found them when we were younger at a christmas party my mum throws every year."

Greg leaned forward in his seat clutching the phone to his ear, he wanted to hear more. "Where did they lead?" he asked eagerly.

"Maybe you'll have to come over some time and I'll show you," Mycroft told him. "There are lots of things you can find at my house. My father had this carpenter make my little brother a place house shaped as a ship in the woods behind our house. He was very in to pirates back when he was about four."

"That's cool," Greg smiled. "Is that why he stole my wallet?"

"No, he thought you were an easy target," he said simply. "Fortunetly you weren't and he wasn't able to get away with yet another wallet."

"What about you?" Greg asked. "Do you go around taking people's things?"

Mycroft chuckled quietly from the other end. "You'll have to find out about that on your own Gregory," he told him happily.

Greg smiled, he was starting to like Mycroft more and more from only one accidental phone call. "What are you doing?" he asked placing his head down on the table. "Besides talking to me."

Mycroft took in a sharp breath. "I snuck outside so I could see the stars while I talked to you," he told him. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sitting at the kitchen table next to an empty bowl," he said over a yawn.

"Sounds like you're tired," Mycroft pointed out. "Maybe you should go to bed."

Greg yawned again while he shook his head. "I don't want to go to sleep yet," he argued. "I like hearing you talk."

Mycroft was silent for a moment. "Then how about you bring the phone up stairs and I'll talk you to sleep?" he suggested.

Greg sat up with a groan, he didn't even want to move he was so tired. "Hey I have a question for you," he mumbled as he tried to climb the stairs.

"Yes, what is it?" Mycroft asked.

Greg covered his mouth so his yawn couldn't be heard by his parents. "Do you like your dad?" he asked. He stumbled in to his bedroom.

"That's not something I think about," Mycroft told him. "That's something I don't want to think about."

Greg nodded. He climbed under his covers still holding the phone tightly in his hand. He was so tired.

"Can I ask you a question now Gregory?" he asked.

"Yes Mycroft, you can," Greg mumbled almost in to his pillow.

"What made that dream turn in to a nightmare?" he asked getting quieter.

Greg was silent for a few minutes, Mycroft thought he fell asleep before he could answer but then he heard a grunt coming from Greg. "I guess it was the fact that I was falling off the cliff," he whispered.

"So you're afraid of dying?" Mycroft questioned.

The tired boy yawned one last time before he said, "Yes, because if I died in that dream then I would have never been able to talk to you."

Mycroft sighed. "You should really see the sun rise Greg," he said to the boy who was snoring softly on the other end. "It's beautiful this morning."

**So, how did you guys like it? Was it good, was it bad, was it eh? Um oh I forgot to mention this up there, if it's a memory I'll put a date or something as a chapter name okay and if it isn't it'll just be chapter and the number as the name. Alright now that we're all caught up with things I'm done here. BYE!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey everyone, how are you doing? That's great, if you're doing good, and that's horrible if you're doing bad. If you have any other comment to that question I'll think up a different answer some other time. Anyway on to the story. This is the next chapter, as you can see, I hope you enjoy it. It was quiet hard to write for some reason. Well, that's it. See ya. **

Greg watched the two men interact with each other through the small window on the wall separating the kitchen and living room. He was perched on the couch comfortably sipping at his glass of water. He's been there all morning, watching them talk while they munched on a few things. He was amazed at how they were together. They always had something to say to the other, nothing seemed to get boring.

He wanted to go in there to see if he could feel that comfortable with them but he was afraid of ruining their calm state. He was wondering what made them like that, what could make them feel so close to each other today, he remembered then that it was the twentieth anniversary of their death. He leaned forward slightly, quietly, so he could hear what they were saying. He still couldn't hear anything; they've been talking in hushed tones since he's been up, like they didn't want him to know what they were saying.

He then started to wonder if they were like this every year and now he was intruding on their ceremony of sorts. He stood up slowly letting his back crack on the way up. He padded his way over to the doorway of the kitchen, he leaned his head in a tad before clearing his throat. They both turned away from each other their mouths shutting quickly once they heard him. "I'll be out for a little while," he told both of them awkwardly. "I'll be back later."

John sent him a small smile. "Where are you going?" he asked nicely.

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not sure yet, but I have a feeling I should leave so you two could be alone," he stated, then added, "or something along those lines."

Mycroft laughed heartily, he wiped his eyes swiftly so Greg wouldn't notice. He waved his hand motioning Greg to come further in to the kitchen with them. "You aren't interrupting anything," he told him. "We were actually talking about you."

"Why me?" Greg asked confused.

John turned to Mycroft giving him a nod. Mycroft sighed before sending a nod back; John smiled to the elder Holmes brother then at Greg before he left, slightly limping out of the kitchen. Greg was pretty sure that they had a secret language of their own. "Your funeral is today," he was told by Mycroft. "We were just wondering if you wanted to go and watch it with us."

"Is that what you've been discussing in here all morning?" Greg asked stepping closer to the counter, "because if it is I'll feel really stupid."

Mycroft shook his head. "We were just talking then," he told him in a tone that made sure Greg wouldn't ask any more questions about their conversation earlier. "So, will you, or are you going to stay home?"

Greg thought about the question. Did he want to go watch his family and friends cry over his dead body? He scratched the back of his neck before shrugging. He would like to go and see everyone, maybe laugh at a few bad jokes he knew someone was going to make to lighten the mood. "I'll go," he answered, laughing with the idea of what types of jokes they could have.

Mycroft smiled cheerfully, or tried to make it look cheerful. "Well then, that's settled," he stated. He pushed himself off the counter wincing in pain as he did so.

"Are you okay?" Greg asked, moving closer.

Mycroft put his hand up to stop him. "I'm fine," he said. "It's just where the bullet that hit me that hurts the most." The look that Greg gave him was pure confusion. Mycroft sighed and explained, "On the anniversary of your death you can feel all the injuries you had when you were dying. I can feel where the bullet hit as if it was the day it happened. It's only a dull pain it'll go away tomorrow."

Greg looked at him with wide eyes. "You were shot?" he asked. He shook his head then, that wasn't what he was told. "But your father told us it was just a horrible car accident."

"Yeah, I know," Mycroft told him with a sarcastic smile. "My father said a lot of things to a lot of people that weren't true."

"So, is that why I wasn't allowed to your funeral?" Greg asked in disbelief.

Mycroft nodded; in all honesty there was no funeral for John and him. His father didn't want anyone to find out what really happened, when he got the phone call saying that Mycroft just died he took hold of the reigns and controlled everything. He didn't allow anyone but professionals to see their bodies, he made sure they were paid off just in case so they wouldn't spill the beans, and their caskets were brought to their graves in the middle of the night when no one was around. He told the two families where the graves were and nothing else.

Mycroft hated the man with a passion. He hated himself a little because he inspired to be that man, he thought that he was going to fall right in to the footsteps of his father and everything would be okay. But now, he knew that if he continued down the path he was using when he was alive he would turn out just as heartless as him.

Seeing that Mycroft wasn't going to say anything Greg cleared his throat. "Is it alright to ask you what happened that night?" he asked slowly so he wouldn't seem like he was pushing Mycroft.

Mycroft casted his eyes down to his polished shoes, he could see his troubled face in the toes. He shook his head firmly, telling Greg no. This was one secret he couldn't share with him or anyone else but John. He wasn't ready for that, he wasn't sure if he would ever be ready for it. "No Gregory, I'm sorry, it's not alright," he said at last. He brought his head up proudly and put on a straight face, he wasn't going to look feeble and week in front of him. "I suggest we get ready to leave."

Lestrade watched the elder Holmes walk out of the room before following at a slower pace. "Yeah," he laughed, "don't want to be late to my own funeral."

-

The three of them crowded in to the small room that was meant for one person usually. Greg took the center chair and the other two took chairs from outside to sit on. Mycroft shifted uncomfortably in his seat before finding a position that suited his long legs.

"Remind me to get new rooms that can fit families," he mumbled to anyone who was listening.

John looked over at him with a smile. "Will do," he said back. "Alright let's get going. Who are you going to watch?" He looked at Greg expectantly.

Greg stared at the TV in complete thought; it was hard to pick who you were going to watch. "I think I'll pick," he paused making a quick last minute decision, "I'll pick Jordan." He turned on the TV turning it from a black screen to the familiar white screen. He said his son's name and watched it go through its usually routine of finding one person out of the billions on earth.

It stopped on one little boy dressed in a black suit, sitting in a pew staring straight ahead to the front of the church. He wasn't crying but he looked like he wanted to just stop holding it all together and let everything come out.

Greg wished he could have been there to tell him it was alright to cry, that crying was all that he needed to feel okay for just a little while. He grabbed the table in front of him, clutching it with all his strength. He wasn't going to cry until his son started to; if Jordan was going to put himself through the pain so was he.

Lestrade looked to Jordan's right and saw Jamie sitting next to his cousin Kingston, who had an arm around her as she cried quietly in to his shoulder. Margret, his daughter, was on her lap with her head buried in Ms. Lovely the pig. He had to smile at the sight of her; she was so cute with her mother's brown hair up in braids.

His eyes went back to his son; the seat to his left was empty as if he was saving it for someone. He tried to see who was there but he couldn't see the whole church so he didn't know if anyone was missing.

The ceremony started but Greg wasn't listening to what the man had to say. His eyes were glued to his strong six year-old, he didn't want to look away from that messy mop of black hair.

He felt a warm hand slither over his that were still clutching the table. He didn't have to see who it was; he knew just by the touch that it was Mycroft. He felt wrong for holding his hand. There was his son keeping it together with no one to consul him and he had Mycroft there for him. He tried to pull his hand away from the slender fingers but instead Mycroft intertwined them together.

"It's okay to have someone there for you," he whispered in to Greg's ear as if he could hear what he was thinking. "Jordan will have someone soon enough." Greg nodded; he let himself relax a bit.

It came to the time for people to say things about him. His wife went up, along with a few of his friends. They all said nice things, and even a few cracked a choke or two.

All of a sudden Jordan's hand shot up. Everyone turned to look at him waiting for him to do something. "Can I say something too?" he asked in a shaky voice.

Jordan stood in front of everyone at the church; he kept his head up se he wouldn't look like he was sad. "I loved my daddy," he started; his eyes were darting over the small crowd. "He taught me all that I know about being the man that I am today." A few chuckles flew through the crowd. "He worked hard every day to keep me safe, and made sure I had something fun to do." He scanned the group again looking defeated. "Whenever I did something wrong he would always make sure I was put on the right path again."

Greg smiled, shaking his head in a humorous fashion. He knew what was being said by his son, knew the real significance behind the words.

"I really appre-appre-appreciate," he smiled triumphantly, showing of his missing teeth, when he got the word right, "my daddy."

Jordan glanced around the room one last time before returning to his seat. Apparently whoever he was looking for still wasn't there. He sat heavily down in to his seat. He still was on the verge of crying but he held it together.

-

Jordan stood next to his mother, his cheeks red from the brutal wind, staring down at the deep hole that his dad was being lowered in to. He looked to the two headstones next to his dad's; he knew that they were once his daddy's friends from a long time ago.

He didn't listen to the priest talk; all he could hear was the sobs of the people around him. He glanced up, briefly, to look around the cemetery. He caught sight of someone standing behind a tree. It was Sherlock.

Jordan stared at him wide eyed before he ran from his mother's side. Jamie tried to grab out to him but he was too quick. He ran across the cemetery in to Sherlock's waiting arms. He buried his head in to the older man's shoulder and finally let the tears go. "I miss him Sherlock," he cried. "I want my dad back. I don't want him to be dead. It's not right that he was taken from me."

Sherlock squeezed the boy closer to his chest burying his nose in to his neck. "I know," he said hoarsely. He motioned, without looking up, for his mum to stop and stay where she was.

"It doesn't feel right now that he's not around," Jordan wailed. "It hurts me, why does it hurt me?"

Sherlock ran his fingers through the soft hair of the six year old; he didn't know what to tell him. "I don't know Jordan," he whispered gently in his ear. "But I do know that you and I can get through this together." He was crying now but not as loudly as Jordan, he only did it behind his shoulder so he couldn't see.

-

The ceremony was over; everyone was leaving to go to the Lestrade's home. Jamie walked over to Sherlock and Jordan who were sitting against a tree. Jordan was in Sherlock's lap with his head resting against his chest. Jamie couldn't help but smile at the sight. "Look at this, the child in the even bigger child's lap," she said to get their attention. Sherlock just stared at her ignoring the comment. "Come on Jordan, we have to get going."

Jordan shook his head. "I want to stay with Sherlock," he told her.

Sherlock stood up keeping his arms secured around Jordan. "I'm going to be here for a few more minutes, if you want I can take him back with me," he suggested.

Jamie sighed but accepted. She kissed the top of Jordan's head and told him she would see him later. She turned, paused and looked back at Sherlock. "Thank you Sherlock," she said sincerely.

Sherlock nodded, he gave her a simple smile before walking over to the fresh grave. He stood looking at the grave for the first time, he read over the words a few times before looking to the two other graves to the right. He knew every inch of those graves stones, he's seen them to many times to count.

Jordan wiggled out of his grasp landing on the ground with a thump. He also looked at the headstone; he reached out with his hand and touched the cold rock with his bare fingers. Sherlock looked down at him and asked, "Do you have anything to say to him?"

Jordan turned and looked at him. "Will he hear me?" he asked looking back.

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders; he looked up at the grey sky with a thoughtful look. "Maybe," he told him, "maybe not. I know what happens to the body after it dies, but I'm not sure where the soul goes. I'm not even sure there is a soul to go anywhere."

A cold hand brought the man from his thoughts. Sherlock looked back down to see green eyes staring back up at him. Jordan tugged him down to the ground next to him. "Daddy," he said leaning his head against Sherlock's arm, "I love you, and I miss you too."

Sherlock listened to the gentle voice say his words to his father. When Jordan stopped Sherlock swallowed heavily. "Lestrade," he started out strong, "I meant every word I said in the church." He lowered his head so he wasn't looking at the slab of stone any more. "There's one thing I forgot to mention though, you're all that I had after…after…well you know. You were like my second older brother." He laughed at the thought considering he was dating his brother. "You were there even before that day, helping out whenever something ticked off my father." He looked down to see Jordan asleep. He looked at him questionably, like he wasn't sure what he was going to say next. He lifted Jordan off the ground back in to his lap. "I must thank you for that, and assure you that I'll be there for Jordan until the end of my days."

Sherlock stood from the icy ground, the wind was blowing his coat up as he stared down at the grave. "Goodbye," he whispered before walking away.

-

Greg stared at the screen, unable to move. Tears were running down his face, he was so happy but sad at the same time. His hand was squeezed and he turned his head towards Mycroft.

"Do you want me to shut it off?" he asked softly. Greg nodded silently. "Are you okay?"

Greg didn't know the answer to that. Was he okay? He just stared at Mycroft in silence.

The old man nodded and stood up. "Let's go home," he said, still using that soft tone, "then you can get some rest. Okay?"

Greg nodded again following Mycroft without a word down the halls back to their flat.

-

Mycroft had Greg settled on the sofa, in some pajamas pants and covered in a blanket. He was working in the kitchen making tea for the grey haired man. John walked in front of Greg's vision in to the kitchen also. Greg looked at him in surprise; he didn't remember John following them back home.

Mycroft traded words with John for a second before returning to the living room. "Here you go," he said setting the cup on the coffee table. He rested a hand on his back, rubbing it in small circles. "Are you okay?" he asked again in concern.

Greg turned his big brown eyes to him; they were red from the crying he couldn't feel he was doing. "Yeah," he answered, "yeah, I'm okay. Thanks to Sherlock, I'm going to be okay."

Mycroft smiled warmly. "I'm glad," he told him. "Now, drink your tea. I'll be in the kitchen."

Greg held him back. He shook his head slowly. "I want you by my side," he said. "I'll be even better with you by my side." Mycroft nodded, he sat down next to Greg. Greg leaned over and kissed his cheek. "You're wonderful."

Mycroft draped an arm over his shoulders, he felt comfortable with the man by his side. He finally felt his pain wash away when he shut his eyes and just breathed in the scent of Gregory. He fell asleep listening to the small sips he took of his tea.

**I hope you liked it. If you did please leave a review I'll really appreciate that. If you didn't then I might also appreciate that, but I'm not too sure about that. Well it's been groovy sharing with you all. Have a wonderful Tuesday everyone. BYE!**


	4. Chapter 4

**This chapter came out of nowhere today. I wasn't planning on writing anything for this till later in the week when I had a better idea, or had a better scenario that came off my little thought that usually propelled my chapters. I hope you like this chapter. See ya. **

"That's odd," Greg said as he was sitting on the couch looking at his bare feet.

Mycroft looked over at him briefly before returning to his paper work. "What is?" he asked. He didn't sound like he was really listening but Greg knew he was.

"The scar on my foot," Greg stated, "it's gone."

Mycroft turned around; taking off his reading glasses, and gave him a weird look. "You have a scar on your foot, from what?" he inquired.

"My dad accidently stabbed my foot with an ice pick," Greg told him. "I had the scar since I was twelve, now it's gone." He was trying to get Mycroft out of his wide eyed trance.

Mycroft nodded sharply turning back to his desk. "Perfectly normal," he said. "When you come here all your scars from your life on earth disappear."

Greg bit his lip and continued to look down at his feet. He was silent for a few moments, just listening to Mycroft's pen glide over the paper. Greg stood up and went to loom over Mycroft's shoulder. He was still silent but he could see the Holmes's writing falter momentarily.

"Yes Gregory, is there something that you wanted?" he asked, sounding more amused than annoyed.

Greg poked his neck with his forefinger. "You have a scar on your neck," he told him like the man didn't already know. "How did you get it?"

Mycroft covered the old scar with his hand rubbing it slowly. "Bar fight," he said quietly, returning back to work quickly.

Greg gave the back of his head a confused look. "Bar fight?" he questioned in disbelief. "You're Mycroft Holmes you don't get in to bar fights."

Mycroft twirled around in his chair and looked up at the silver fox. "Well, it wasn't really a fight since I let the person overpower me for the sake. I was also just in the bar for a few seconds before I was attacked," he explained. He watched as Lestrade tried not to laugh. "I don't see how that is funny."

Greg shook his head, he didn't know either. "So they have bars here?" he asked.

"Yes," Mycroft said quickly. "Now I want to hear about the ice pick incident."

"Don't you have work to do?" Greg asked in a playful tone.

Mycroft waved his hand. "It's not like I'm going to get fired for making someone else do it," he told him. He raised his eyebrows in realization. "In fact I can't get fired, but that's not what we're talking about now. Ice pick, I want to know how it got in to your foot."

Greg chuckled softly before turning to go back to the couch. "It was around Christmas," he started. He felt Mycroft grab his wrist drawing him back towards him on to his lap. Greg got comfortable and leaned back in to Mycroft's chest. "It was around Christmas and my dad took me out to get the tree. My mom didn't go because she had to work, so my dad decided to make it special.

We usually just went to tree farms for our trees, but that year he took me out to the woods to cut down our own tree ourselves. When we got to the woods my dad went in to the back of the truck and couldn't find and ax. So he got an ice pick."

"Which makes sense," Mycroft interjected. "He wouldn't have an ax but an ice pick."

Greg waved off his comment before continuing with his story. "We walked around for a few hours, trying to find the best tree. I almost gave up and had my dad carry me around but we found the tree," he said. He looked down at his hands; somehow they were entwined with Mycroft's, and laugh. "He started hacking at the bottom of the tree with the pick. He was working really hard, and getting very frustrated because he was getting nowhere. He threw the pick down and in to my foot. I stared down at it in shock as my dad had no clue what he just did."

Mycroft's face was priceless, his mouth was hanging open and his eyes were unblinking in shock. "That's an amazing story," he told him after being silent for a minute. "How come you never told me that?"

"You've never seen my feet, so you never asked," he was told.

"I've seen your feet many times," Mycroft pointed out, "but I think that's because you always ended up sleeping at the end of my bed." He nuzzled his face into Greg's shoulder, breathing in his scent like it would be the last think he inhaled. "Gregory, how are you feeling?"

Greg kept his mouth shut; he wasn't sure how to answer that. There was the fact that he died a few weeks earlier, or that he lost his family, that could make him sad or angry, but there's also the moment he was in now. He was happy to be sitting on Mycroft's lap, in his arms, reminiscing about old times. He wanted to say that he was sad but he couldn't, because he wasn't. "Happy," he simply answered with a smile.

Mycroft's arms tightened around Lestrade's waist as he kissed his neck. "I'm glad," he whispered in to the fabric of Greg's pajama top. He smiled fondly when he felt hot breath on his cheek. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"So if I was a crying mess you wouldn't have me?" Greg asked jokingly.

Mycroft held him tighter. "I would fix it," he told him, leaving out the obviously.

They were silent again, both listening to the other breath. Greg started absentmindedly playing with Mycroft's fingers. Picking one up and dropping it before going on to the next, he felt like a child doing it but he didn't care. Each finger he could feel a whole life time pulsing through them, a life time he wished he lived in. He wished he could have held this fingers for the pass twenty years and now it seemed so wrong for it to be so simple to touch them.

He brought them up to his lips and kissed every individual one. The skin was soft against his chapped lips; it made him feel warm with every small kiss. He stood slowly keeping Mycroft's hand in his. He pulled the elegant looking man from his seat and on to his feet. "Mr. Holmes would you like to dance?" he asked, a smile playing at his lips.

"I don't hear any music," Mycroft told him softly, but he was getting ready to dance.

Greg shut his eyes taking in a deep breath. "You don't?" he asked cocking his head to the side. "I can its sounds so beautiful. Buh bum, buh bum, buh bum."

Mycroft was being led around the living room to a heartbeat. Everything around them became white and the only thing that seemed to matter was the man in front of him, holding on to his hand and waist. He was swept away in the easy rhythm, in the way that they moved with each other so smoothly. It felt as if they were dancing in water, he could feel everything rush between them with every motion.

He pulled Greg closer to him so he could whisper in to his ear. "I love you," he said, his voice was barely audible.

"I love you too," Greg said back.

Mycroft put his head on his shoulder and shut his eyes, trusting Greg to keep him up. He smiled, finally happy that he got his Gregory back.

**So did you guys like it? I know it was shorter than the others but that's alright, this one works well as short, no need to add extra. Well I hope you enjoyed it. BYE!**


	5. September 9

**Hey guys, I'm back. I have a new chapter for you and here it is. I hope you like it. See ya.**

Greg picked up the phone, placing his finger over the first number of the phone number he had memorized. He's been sitting on his couch staring at the phone for thirteen minutes without pressing a single button. He was nervous; he never invited Mycroft over to his house for anything. Mycroft invited him over a few times but Greg reclined the offer by lying and saying he was busy. He was sort of afraid that he'll lose a connection he's built up with the Holmes boy over the last two months over the phone.

He put pressure down on the first button and heard it beep. "No turning back now," he mumbled to himself as he dialed the rest of the number. He listened to it ring a few times, impatiently bouncing his foot of the side of his bed. It rang a few times, Greg was going to give it up as a lost cause and hang up. He pulled the phone away; his finger hovered over the end call button.

"Hello, Gregory," Mycroft's voice cut through the air. "I hope you aren't planning on hanging up."

Greg brought the phone back up and sighed in to the receiver. "You caught me, I was going to call you and hang up when you answered," he told him playfully. 'Well, there went my nervousness,' he mumbled inside his head.

"It would have failed anyway, I have caller ID" Mycroft told him. "So, what are you up to today?"

Greg shifted lazily on his bed resting further up on the wall. "Well," he squeaked. He cleared his throat before continuing. "I was wondering what you were doing this weekend." He shut his eyes and sighed, he shouldn't be nervous talking to him.

Mycroft was silent for a moment. "Nothing is planned at the moment," he told him pleasantly. "Why?"

"I'm having a birthday party," he told him. "I was wondering if you would like to come."

It was silent on the other end; it made Greg even more nervous. He started chewing on the dry skin on his lip. "I would love to come," Mycroft answered.

Greg let out a relieved sigh. "That's great," he told him. "That's really great, thanks."

Mycroft laughed at his friend's joy. "Since I'm going to your party, what would you like?" he asked.

"You don't have to get me anything," Greg told him frantically.

"Fine, I won't get you anything," Mycroft said. "But I will."

Lestrade groaned. "Why do I try to tell you anything?" he questioned. He rolled over on to his stomach with another sigh. "Any way, what are you doing?"

"I'm doing some homework," Mycroft informed him.

"Then I should let you go," Greg said quickly. "I don't want to bother you."

"No it's alright," Mycroft said. Greg could hear Mycroft moving around. He heard the other boy sigh. "I'm tired of doing it now anyway. I've been working on it ever since I got home. What are you up to?"

Greg ran his fingers through his hair slowly. "I'm just sitting around in my room," he said. "There's nothing to do here." He grabbed something off his night stand and started playing with it. He tossed it up in the air and caught it. "I got in some trouble today."

"Yeah, doing what?" Mycroft asked sounding amused. "You didn't set fire to the couch did you?"

Greg laughed loudly. "No, not this time," he told him. "I broke a glass." He missed the object he was throwing and it hit his face. "Ow," he muttered quietly rubbing his nose. "It wasn't my fault. I was just sitting at the table and I accidently hit it with my hand."

Mycroft hummed. "That doesn't sound too bad," he said to him. "Are you sure you didn't do anything else?"

"I may not have picked it up afterwards," he admitted. "But let's not get hung up on that."

"Okay," Mycroft laughed. "I'm sorry you got in trouble over such a small matter."

"Gregory," his mum's voice called up the stairs. "Come down here right now!"

Mycroft laughed in to his ear again. "She doesn't sound happy," he told him. "Call me later, when you're done getting yelled at."

Greg frowned; he didn't want to stop talking to him. It was the most comforting thing to do. "Fine," he sighed.

"Bye Gregory," Mycroft said.

"See ya Mycroft," he said back. He hit the end button and dropped the phone on the bed. He stood up and made his way down stairs.

-

Mycroft hung up the phone with a smile on his face. He got up off his bed and walked over to his desk. "Why don't you just tell him," Sherlock said from under the desk.

Mycroft looked down at the small boy huddled at his feet. "There are some things you don't tell people you only met once," he told him. He started to work on his homework again. Sherlock opened his mouth to say something again but Mycroft shot him a look. "If you keep talking father will know you're in here." Sherlock paled and kept his mouth shut.

Mycroft sighed running his fingers over his head. He was worried about his little brother's health. He was smaller than most thirteen year olds, he was sick more often than kids his age. He knew he had one person to blame for that.

"Mycroft," his father called from the other side of the door.

Sherlock scrambled out from under the desk over to the bed. He slid easily under it. "Yes?" Mycroft called to him.

"It's time for dinner," his father grumbled angrily through the door.

"Okay," Mycroft told him. He listened to the footsteps heading away from his bedroom. He stood up from his chair and walked to the door. "I'll bring you something up when we're done." He could see Sherlock's scared eyes shining from the darkness. He turned away from him, took in a deep breath and left the room.

He shut his eyes as he shut the heavy door. He felt a sudden surge of guilt go through his chest as he thought that later that night he would have to sneak Sherlock back in to the room. He was lucky he was able to get him out of the room so he wasn't alone. He knew that was one of the things Sherlock hated most, being alone.

He walked down the big staircase and in to the dining room. He saw his father and mother bickering about something. He sat himself down in his chair quietly and waited til they were done to get his plate ready.

-

Dinner was finished with out anything going bad. Mycroft was able to slip a few pieces of bed in his pocket before he was allowed to leave the table. He opened his door slowly, so Sherlock knew someone was coming in.

"Sherlock," Mycroft called out softly as he shut the door. Sherlock's curly hair popped out from under the bed. Mycroft bent down and held out the bread. "Sorry, this was all I was able to grab."

Sherlock grabbed the bread and stuffed a corner in his mouth before pulling himself out from under the bed. "This is enough," he mumbled as he tore off pieces and dropped them in to his mouth. "Father will let me out tomorrow."

Mycroft sighed and sat heavily down in his chair. "I don't know why you don't just behave," he told him. Sherlock sent a half heart glare towards him.

"I wouldn't say things like that if they weren't doing it," Sherlock pointed out. "It wasn't my fault, I just told him what was wrong with his "friend", and I shouldn't be punished for it."

"Yes you should," Mycroft snapped. "Without punishment you won't learn." He took in a few calming breaths. "Just…"

Sherlock ate the last piece of bread. "Just what Mycroft?" he spat. "If you think I should learn by my mistakes then why did you help me get out?"

Mycroft stared at his brother with a blank stare. "Because, you're in there too often," he told him. "Sherlock I care about you, and I think what father does is wrong."

Sherlock eyes widened as did Mycroft's. "Hurry," he hissed. Sherlock scrambled over to a hidden door and he quickly got in to it. It shut with a soft click. It was in time for their father to open up Mycroft's door.

"Where is he?" he asked angrily.

Mycroft looked at him innocently. He should have known his father would suspect something. "Where is who?" he asked, playing dumb.

His father took a step closer to him, silently threatening him with his eyes. "Don't play dump with me boy," he snarled. His eyes darted to the floor by the bed. He smirked and dropped to the floor. He lifted up the bed skirt and cursed. "Where is he?"

Mycroft scooted back in his chair so he could create a little more distance between him and the older man. "He's where you left him," he told him.

His father straightened his back and stared at him over his long slender nose. "If he's isn't in that room, I'm coming after you," he warned him.

Mycroft silently wished that Sherlock was able to get to the room down the hall from the hidden passageway which was across the hall from the room. If he didn't make it they were both going to be in serious trouble. He listened closely as his father opened the door; there was no yelling, no one struggling.

He slowly leaned out in to the hallway and saw his father closing the door behind him as he entered the room. Mycroft gulped, he was pretty sure of what his father was about to do. He wouldn't be seeing Sherlock in the morning, closer to the afternoon.

His phone started ringing and he jumped. He covered his heart with his hand and walked over to it. "Hello?" he answered.

"Are you alright?" Greg asked. "I called earlier and your brother answered, he said something might be wrong."

Mycroft sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Nothing is wrong," he lied. "Sherlock was just joking around." He wasn't going to tell anyone what was going on, even if it was the smart thing to do. He knew if he did something bad would happen to their family and his father would be looked down upon. "So what would you like to talk about?"

"Mycroft!" his father yelled.

Mycroft shut his eyes and took in a quick breath. "Is everything alright there?" Greg asked. "Is there really something wrong?"

"No of course not," Mycroft told him. "Listen I got to go, I'll see you this weekend."

"I can't wait," Greg told. It was evident that he was still worried. "Remember you don't have to get me anything."

"Yeah," Mycroft chuckled. "Bye." He quickly hung up. He stood up from his chair and stood, as straight as he could, facing the door.

His father walked with a smile plastered on his face. "I'm very proud of you son," he told him. "You didn't lie to me." He bowed slightly and left.

Mycroft sat down on his bed, staring at his wall unblinking. He wanted to start crying but he had no reason to cry. He wasn't hurt; he wasn't the one lying on the floor in pain.

-

Greg pushed his friend Eddie off his shoulder. "It's mine," he yelled at him. "Get your own drink if you want one."

Eddie grabbed the cup again and took a huge swig of it. Everyone else in the room started laughing. "Come on Greg, loosen up," he told him. He finished off the soda.

Brian jumped on Eddie's back, bringing him to the ground. "He's a traitor," he hollered. "Everyone attack."

Greg and the other kid there, Kyle, all hopped on Eddie's and Brian's back. They wrestled around for a bit til two of them were holding Eddie to a chair. "Lestrade, believe me I'm no traitor," he pleaded.

Greg stood with his back ramrod straight. "I summon you…" The doorbell broke him off. His eyes narrowed. "I'll be back," he announced. He walked over to the door and opened it. "State your name."

Mycroft stood on his front step with his eyebrows raise. "Mycroft Holmes," he stated.

Greg's face split in to a smile. "You made it," he breathed out. He stood aside and let Mycroft walk by him. "You're just in time for our judgment."

Mycroft threw his jacket on the couch and stood next to Greg in front of the captive. "What is he being judged for?" he asked.

"Treason," Kyle told him.

"I will now consult with my counselors," Greg told him and turned around. Brian and Mycroft turned around so they could talk with him. "Brian this is Mycroft, Mycroft this is Brian."

They shook hands. "Nice to meet you," Mycroft said.

"Dido," Brian stated.

Greg nodded. "I say we take him out back and run him under the hose for ten minutes," he told them.

The two other boys nodded. "That's the best idea," said Brian.

-

Eddie was sitting in the grass soaking wet. "I hate you all," he groaned in to his hands. "Especially you, I don't even know you and you were the first one handling the hose."

Mycroft patted him on the back with a smile. "It's not my fault," he told him. "You were the trader." He looked up at Kyle who was standing on a shed with a rope in his hand. "What is he doing?"

"He's jumping of the shed with a rope," Brian told him. He laughed as Kyle jumped off the shed and swung to the other side of the yard. "I'm next." He hopped up off the ground and clambered on to the shed.

"I don't have the brightest friends," Greg pointed out to him as he fell to the ground next to him. "Although I am going up next," he yelled to Eddie who was already climbing up on the shed. Eddie waved him off and continued climbing. "Alright, I'm going after Eddie."

Mycroft fell back and started laughing. "You can't escape the thrill," he suggested.

"Come on Lestrade, you said you wanted to go next," Brian yelled.

Greg pushed himself off the ground. "I'll be back," he called over his shoulder. He climbed quickly up to the top of the shed. He grabbed the rope. "Watch me fly." He jumped off the shed and glided across the yard landing on the trampoline at the other end.

Mycroft dropped his head in his hands and laughed some more. "I give it a four," he yelled.

Everyone started laughing as Lestrade rolled off the trampoline. "Way to go Greg," Brian yelled joyfully. "I can do better than that." He grabbed the rope and swung.

"That was a definite one," Mycroft yelled to him, causing everyone to start laughing again.

Brian growled and rolled off the trampoline. "Yeah," he yelled, "well I would like to see you try."

Mycroft put up his hands in defense. "I really don't think that would be a good idea," he told him.

Brian put his hands on his hips and glared. "Why?" he asked.

"Come on Bri," Greg said as a warning.

Mycroft placed his hand on Greg's elbow to calm him down. "I fell down the other day and hurt my side," he told him.

Brian laughed. "Oh it won't hurt," he told him. He climbed to the top of the shed. "It won't take longer than a few seconds."

Mycroft sighed and stood up. "Fine," he mumbled and started for the shed. He climbed up the side; he was trying to hide every wince from his pain. He grabbed the rope from Brian's hand.

"Come on Mycroft," Kyle yelled, "you can do it."

"Yeah," Eddie added cheerfully as he clapped. Greg joined in with the cheering and even whistled a few times.

Mycroft shut his eyes and swallowed hard. He jumped off the edge like he watched the other boys do. He opened his eyes and watched as the trees went by. Suddenly he felt his grip failing and he was no longer heading forward and up but down towards the ground. He landed on the ground heavily. He cried out in pain and clutched his side with his hand.

Everyone rushed to his side. "Are you alright?" Kyle asked worryingly.

Mycroft pushed himself up slowly. "Yeah," he got out through gritted teeth. "I just need to go to the bathroom." He walked as quickly as he could towards the house.

Greg broke away from the small group of his friends and followed after him. He entered the house and looked around but couldn't see him anywhere. He was pretty sure that Mycroft didn't know where the bathroom was but decided it would be best to look there first.

-

Mycroft lifted his shirt so he could see the damage that was done. His already bruised side looked redder around the bandage that covered his wound he got earlier that week. He lifted up the bandage slightly to see if his cut had opened up in the fall.

"Are you alright?" Greg asked poking his head through the crack of the door. He saw the cut and winced. "Man what happened?" He came closer and touched the bruised skin lightly.

"I fell down a few steps," he told him. He dropped his t-shirt, moving Greg's hand in the process. "I made the mistake of walking around the top of it with just socks on. The floors were very slippery." He would have laughed; he almost believed the story himself.

"You want my mum to take a look at it?" Greg asked. "I can call her up; she's just at my uncles with my dad. She's a nurse by the way."

Mycroft waved his suggestions off. "I'll be fine, I just need an ice pack," he stated. Greg nodded and left the room in a hurry. Mycroft followed after him at a much slower pace.

"I would have figured you were smart enough to not fall down stairs," Greg called from the kitchen.

Mycroft chuckled a bit. "Yeah, so did I," he called back. He turned his head when he saw the other boys scrambling in to the house.

"You okay?" Brian asked.

Mycroft could tell that he was feeling guilty for making him do something he didn't want to, but that didn't mean he was going to get off the hook anytime soon. Mycroft winced and nodded. "Yeah," he let out through fake pain. He lifted up his shirt to show everyone the bruising. "I just got a few cuts and bruises."

Brian's eyes widened. "How big is the cut?" he asked curiously.

Mycroft raised his brows before looking down to his side. "I think it's about this big," he said holding his fingers apart to show the length.

"That might leave a scar," Kyle told him.

Eddie wiggled his eyebrows and said, "And we all know how the ladies love scars." Everyone started laughing.

Greg came back in and handed Mycroft a bag full of ice. The doorbell rang and he stood up. "I hope that's the pizza," he grumbled loudly. He grabbed the money his dad left him and opened the door. He paid for the pizza and brought it back in to the living room. "Two large pepperoni pizzas for me."

"No way," Kyle yelled. He lunged towards Lestrade grabbing at the pizza. "One slice, that's all I'm begging for."

Greg held the two boxes out of Kyle's reach. "Fine, one piece you shall have," he announced heartily. "Eddie how many would you like to have?"

"Twelve," Eddie said in a small mouse like voice.

"To many," Lestrade brushed it off. "Brian?"

Brian waited a moment before answering. "Four," he told him heroically.

Mycroft covered up his laughs with his hand. He knew Greg was waiting for his request. "Just two," he said with a smile and a small bow.

Greg nodded affirmatively before pointing back to Eddie. "You will only be allowed six," he told him. Eddie nodded and stepped forward, taking one of the boxes from his hands. "We shall feast." He placed the box on the table and the boys lunged for it.

-

"See ya Greg," Brian said, patting Greg on the back. He turned to Mycroft who was the last one left and held out his hand. "Nice to meet you Mycroft."

"Nice to meet you Brian," Mycroft said shaking his hand. "I hope next time we meet I don't get so banged up."

Brian laughed. "Yeah, I'm still sorry for that," he told him. "See ya at school Greggy."

Greg rolled his eyes and shut the door behind his friend. Mycroft turned to him with an amused look. "Greggy?" he questioned with a raised eyebrow.

Greg held his finger up to his face. "Call me that and you'll lose a finger," he warned.

Mycroft grabbed his finger and wiggled it around before Greg tore it away. "I wouldn't dare Gregory," he told him with a pleasant smile. He turned his head towards the clock and frowned. "Well my driver will be here soon." Greg's face dropped and he opened his mouth to say something but Mycroft stopped him. "So, I will give you your present now."

"I told you not to get me a present," Greg told him. He turned and walked away from the other boy. "I will not accept it."

Mycroft walked over to his coat, shaking his head, and grabbed a small box out of his pocket. He walked over to where Greg was brooding and tapped him on the shoulder. "I believe this is yours," he said as sweetly as he could.

Greg sighed and tore the wrapping paper, he took off the top of the box and stared down at the present inside. "This," he breathed out. He lifted the silver pocket knife out of the box so he could look at it better. On the side was an engraving of his full name. "How did you know my middle name was Vincent?" He looked up at Mycroft with a questioning look.

"I saw it on something in your wallet," Mycroft told him truthfully. When Greg still looked confused, he sighed and further explained. "When Sherlock stole your wallet, I took a look inside and found out your name."

Greg flicked it open and shut it again. "This is amazing," he sighed. "It's a lot better than what my other friend's would have gotten me." He closed his fingers around the metal and quickly wrapped his arms around Mycroft. "Thank you."

Mycroft was momentarily surprised. "You're welcome," he said nervously. There was a knock on the door. "That will be for me." He opened the door to a tall man in a long coat. He turned back to Greg with a small precise nod. "I hope to see you again, Gregory."

"Soon," Greg called after him before the door could shut. He smiled happily and fell back on to the couch.

**I know, I know, so typical. Abusive father, beating his kids up, but it goes with the fact that he covered up everyone's death, well I say everyone. Anyway, I understand if you don't like this, but I hope you did. Thank you for anyone who reviewed and alerted this story, you are the light that keeps me going. BYE!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey guys, I got the new chapter here for anyone who's waiting for it. I hope you enjoy it. See ya.**

Mycroft watched as everyone started to panic. Somehow the system failed, those who died were being sent back to earth without spending the apt amount of in L.A.D. No one knew what to do, they were all shouting out solutions over each other, trying to be heard. Mycroft rubbed his temples, attempting to keep the oncoming headache at bay. He knew something like this hadn't happened before, he knew this meeting was going to be stressful, but he still wished everyone would just…"Shut up," he hollered over the loud roar of the officials. "Bickering like a bunch of old grandmothers will not help up solve this crisis." Everyone stopped their talking and turned to the head of the table, they were all staring at Mycroft with wide eyes.

"Mycroft, that is no way to talk in a meeting," Ian Munching, someone with almost all the power that Mycroft had, reprimanded.

Mycroft lowered his hands from his head and placed them neatly on the long wooden table in front of him. "I'm sorry, Mr. Munching, but we were getting nowhere with everyone trying to get their two cents," he enlightened him, as if the man wasn't in the very room he was. "Now that I have everyone's attention, I think I know how to fix this."

"What would that be Mr. Holmes?" someone near the other end of the table called out.

Mycroft licked his lips, taking a moment to take in the silence. "During World War 2 the death toll was so high that we had to stop the people, who were dying, coming here, and only letting a few pass at a time so we wouldn't get a massive overload," he refreshed their memories. "I think we should do the same thing here, stop people from even starting the process."

"But that doesn't solve our problem," Ian told him. "That's not solving our problem."

Mycroft shot a look at him. "No it doesn't fix it but it keeps the population on earth down," he said sternly. He scanned the rest of the room; a few people were nodding in agreement. "During the time that we keep their souls there then we can fix the problem here."

"Then won't we get an overload here when we fix the problem?" Ian fought back.

Mycroft sighed inside his head and sent Ian an annoyed smile. "A simple solution to that would be to allow a few people through even if it would raise the population by a small amount. After we do that then we can get the workers to see what's malfunctioning," he said, using all his power not to roll his eyes. He really didn't like Ian, and vice versa. It was Ian who showed his dislike to Mycroft more though; the eloquent Holmes always tried to seem polite when working. But he did have his bad days.

"I agree with Mr. Holmes," another official yelled out. "It's the only solution that will keep things balanced."

"Now hold on," Ian said, sending a pointed look towards the man who just spoke.

"Do you have a better resolution to our problem?" Mycroft snapped. He reeled himself back in his chair and straightened out his back so he was taller than him. "Because if you don't, I think we should go with mine." Ian didn't even attempt to make up a plan; he just glared at Mycroft's stone expression. "Very well, start the process to stop the souls from coming. Also make sure you turn off the indicators, we don't want people waiting in anticipation for their loved ones. That's the end of the meeting." He stood up out of his chair and buttoned his jacket again. He grabbed his umbrella off the back of his chair and waltzed out of the room.

Ian jumped out of his seat angrily and followed him down the hall. "Why did you do that?" he snarled once he caught up with Mycroft.

Mycroft shut his eyes and inwardly groaned. "I don't know what you're talking about Mr. Munching," he told him as politely as he could.

"You know what I'm talking about," Ian snarled. Mycroft was considering that Ian wasn't fully a man, but had some dog in him. "You undermined my authority in there."

Mycroft lifted his chin and looked down his nose at the official. "Last time I checked I have more power than you," he pointed out gracefully. "Now, if you'll excuse me I have dinner plans in ten minutes." He turned on his heel and walked away from the man.

**123**

Greg slid the pancake off the pan and onto the stack sitting by the stool. He whistled and danced as he maneuvered around the kitchen. He lifted up the pancakes and slide on his socks over to the table. He plopped the plate next to the plate of bacon, half of them extra crispy just the way Mycroft liked them and half of them flimsy like the way he liked them.

He checked his watch; Mycroft would be home in a half an hour. That would give him enough time to get changed in to something nicer than his flannel pajama pants and an apron. He quickly jogged out of the room and into their room. While changing in the room he heard the door open and close. "Mycroft?" he called out through the heavy door.

"No it's me," John yelled back. John smiled and stepped closer to the door. "I forgot the gift I got my mum. I'll be out of here in a minute." He ventured in to the kitchen. He looked at the breakfast food covering the table. "For your one year anniversary you're making breakfast?"

Greg smirked; it was good to hear someone else say it was their one year anniversary. "I decided to surprise Mycroft," he yelled. "I figured he is expecting something fancy so I told myself this morning that I wanted breakfast for dinner. " He fixed his tie and stepped out of his room. "Tell me, do I look good or do I look good?"

John looked him over once; he let out a low whistle. "You look better than good," he told him. He leaned against the wall with his mum's present under his arm. "Man, I can't believe that a year ago you arrived."

"It's been longer than a year," Lestrade said, "because I wasn't proposed to by Mycroft until I was here for at least three months."

John nodded. "You work fast," he told him jokingly. "You fox."

"They don't call me the silver fox for nothing," he said with a smirk. He walked behind him and stared at the table. "I can't believe it."

John chuckled; he turned around and gave his shoulder a good pat. "I'll be getting out of your hair now," he said. "I'll be back tomorrow, around noon. Hopefully you two will be done with 'dinner' by then." He said with a wink. He opened the door and walked out.

Lestrade smiled, he checked his watch again and fell back on to the wall. He fiddled with the ring on his finger; suddenly he started laughing like a loon. He was overwhelmed with happiness.

Mycroft opened the door, and paused for a moment. He shook his head, a smile overtaking the sour look Ian left him with. He turned back around and took off his coat and hung it up, placing his umbrella against the wall. "Can I ask what is so funny?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder he saw Greg calming down.

Greg shook his head. "Nothing," he breathed out. "How was your day?"

Mycroft groaned. "Ian got on my nerves again," he told him. He took a few steps closer and stopped in front of him. "He was fighting me over a certain matter."

"What certain matter?" Greg asked, knowing full well that he wasn't allowed to know what they were working on.

"You know I can't tell you," he said, pecking Greg's lips. "Also it's not important right now." He slid his hands on to Greg's sides and pulled him closer. "You look gorgeous." He kissed him slowly, pushing him against the wall as he did so.

Greg grabbed him by the back of the head and pulled him away. "Dinner's getting cold," he told him out of breath. He kissed him quickly one more time before leading him in the kitchen.

Mycroft clutched his hand and whined like a puppy following its owner. "Can't we just skip the dinner?" he asked. His eyes widened with joy, he looked over at Greg with the biggest smile he could fit on his face. "Breakfast for dinner, you're the greatest husband ever."

Greg just smirked at him and sat down in his own chair. "I made you're favorite kind of pancakes," he told him, "extra chocolate chip." Mycroft moaned and grabbed at the top pancake. Greg laughed silently in his head as he watched Mycroft fill up his plate with glee. "I think you love the food more than you love me." Mycroft looked at him innocently before going back to eating without saying a word. Greg frowned and kicked him in the shin.

"Ow," Mycroft laughed. "You know this night won't go well if you keep hurting me."

**456**

Greg pulled Mycroft down over him on the couch. He gripped his waistcoat, using it to pull himself up to kiss the man. "I love you," he moaned.

Mycroft smiled against his mouth. He pulled back and slipped Greg's jacket off his shoulders. "Wear less next time," he told him. He pulled at a few of the buttons on his dress shirt. "Although you do look quite dashing," he added.

Greg forced him down again and pushed his lips on his. "You're taking too long," he complained.

Mycroft leaned forward and whispered into Lestrade's ear, "How about we take this to the bedroom?" Greg shook his head, he told him they were just fine where they were. The official let out a warm breath over his cheek as he agreed.

The moment was ruined by Mycroft's phone started ringing. He lifted himself up and groaned. "I thought you shut that off," Greg sighed. He was already pulling himself out from under Mycroft. He knew that he was going to leave from many nights of interruptions.

"Sorry," Mycroft told him. Greg knew he was but that didn't mean it made him any happier. "Hello," he answered the phone.

"Mr. Holmes," Hubert Linn, another official, said from the other end, "the process of stopping the souls from coming here didn't work."

Mycroft sighed; he ran his fingers through his tousled hair and started towards the door. "I'll be there in a minute," he said before hanging up. "I have to go. I promise I'll be back before two, okay." He swept towards Greg and kissed him. "I'm sorry."

Greg nodded unhappily. "It's okay," he told him. "I understand that you're trying to avert a crisis."

Mycroft smiled and kissed him again. "Bye," he said as he jogged quickly out of the flat.

Lestrade fell back on the couch with a frustration filled sigh. He unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and tore it off. He threw it to the ground behind the couch and stood. He unbuckled his belt and pulled off his trousers. He threw them over with the shirt and walked to the bedroom. He changed into his flannel pajama pants again and a t-shirt.

He slugged in to the kitchen and cleaned up the forgotten plates. He didn't want to put them in the dishwasher so he did them all by hand. When he was done he sat back on the couch and pulled out his phone. It rang a few times and John answered. "Hey John, if you want to come back and hang out I'll love to have some company."

"Mycroft did not walk on you," he said in disbelief and anger.

Greg smirked. "He has to deal with another catastrophe," he told him. "I'm used to it by now. So if you want to come back early you can."

"Alright," John sighed into the receiver. "I just have to eat dinner here and then I'll leave, okay?"

"See you soon," he said and hung up. He leaned further into the couch and shut his eyes. He replayed the day that he was proposed to over and over again in his mind.

**789 –About One Year Earlier-**

Greg twirled around his night stick, whistling a tune he heard earlier on the radio while sitting in the office earlier. He wasn't paying attention to the streets around him; it's not like many people committed crimes in L.A.D. anyway. His job has grown considerably more tedious since he got died, but then again being an officer doesn't always mean murder. He almost wished for something interesting to happen, but he stopped himself when he figured out he sounded like Sherlock.

He covered a loud yawn with his hand and checked down the alley he was walking by for any stragglers who might need a helping hand home. Of course he didn't find any, he never did. His phone started ringing; he brought it out of his pocket to answer. "Lestrade," he said into the receiver.

"Hello," Mycroft's voice came from the other end. "I was wondering if you were done with your shift yet."

Greg moaned he forgot he had a date with Mycroft. "Not yet," he told him. "I'm just on Hamilton Street; I should be done in about a half an hour."

Greg could hear Mycroft sighing. "Well Gregory I was hoping to have dinner with you tonight, I guess that won't happen though," he stated, a certain edge in his tone. "It's not a problem, though Angelo won't take it well."

"Come on My," Greg groaned, "don't say that. I said I'll be done in no time. You don't have to cancel any reservations you made, I'll be there soon."

"Okay," Mycroft said. "I'll wait here for you, come here when you're done."

"Bye," Greg let out.

"Bye," Mycroft sighed before hanging up.

Greg put away his phone and grabbed his walkie-talkie. He pressed the button and it made a cackling noise. "Hey boss, can I end my shift now, nothing"

"No can do Lestrade, there's a problem going down at Angelo's, I need you go and check it out," the older man ordered. "Hurry up."

Lestrade put the walkie-talkie back in its holster and started running towards Angelo's. He took his phone out of his pocket and quickly dialed Mycroft's number. It rang a few times but no one picked up. Greg cursed himself. He just talked to the man, how could something bad happen in such a short time.

He turned the corner and saw Angelo's. It didn't look like anything was happening inside; it was almost pitch black in there, an occasional flicker of light making its way to the window. He got closer to the restaurant, finding out why it looked so dark in there, the curtains were down. He tried to peer inside but it was useless he couldn't see anything.

Greg raised his nightstick and slowly opened the door. He didn't expect what was behind the door. Mycroft was sitting in the middle of the restaurant with a candle in the center. The whole room was lit by candles, one for every table. Greg covered his mouth with his hand and stepped in further. "There isn't any problem here is there?" he opted to ask.

Mycroft folded his hands under his chin, a smile on his face. "Not anymore," he said, "I have my officer here." Mycroft stood up and strode over to Lestrade; taking him by the hand he led him to the table. "Now that you're here you can have dinner with me."

"You called the police department with a fake problem," Greg stated, "just to get me to have dinner?"

Mycroft smirked; he sat down in his seat motioning to the plate of food in front of Greg. "Well I already ordered your favorite dish, I didn't want it to get cold," he told him.

Greg sighed and started eating his food. He reached across the table and grabbed Mycroft's hand. "You're a manipulative man," he told him with a laugh. "Is that how you got me to date you?"

Mycroft chuckled. "I can't tell you that dear," he told him smoothly.

**456**

The two men finished their dinners. Angelo came out and took their plates, sending a small wink in Mycroft's direction as he did so. "I hope you two are having a good time," he said.

"A wonderful time Angelo," Mycroft told him.

Angelo had a surprised look on his face before grabbing the rest of the left overs. "I'll be off then," he said and left hurriedly.

Greg watched him go. "What's up with him?" he asked. He shook his head and turned back to Mycroft whose smile got broader. "Never mind him, what's up with you? I haven't seen you this happy since we went to the ship that one time." He laughed at the memory. "Do you remember that day? You got so red." He had to hold himself up as he laughed even louder. "I wish I could have shown you your face, it was priceless."

Mycroft stood up, earning a weird look from Greg. Lestrade opened his mouth to question his actions when he got down on his knee. "Gregory Vincent Lestrade," he started reaching into his pocket, "I love you." He opened up the small box, a small golden ring inside. Greg's mouth hung open as he just stared at the man on his knees in front of him. "I have since the first time I my brother pickpocketed you. Will you marry me?"

Greg licked his lips; he opened his mouth then quickly shut it. He started shaking his head. "I don't know," he said, his voice gruff. Mycroft's smile fell; the officer swore he heard the other man's heart break. He got down on his knees along with him, despite the aching protest and wrapped his arms around his neck. "I can't answer you right now Mycroft." He kissed a tear running down his cheek and whispered in his ear, "But I'll think about it, because there is no man I would rather be with and I love you, just let me think about it."

Mycroft nodded, he wrapped his arms around Greg's waist and nuzzled his face in to his shoulder. "You almost gave me a heart attack," he told him, a playful smile on his face.

**789–Present time-**

Greg rubbed his face; he grabbed his drink and took a sip. "John, I don't know why I thought I could have a normal night tonight," he mumbled to the only sober man in the room.

John gave his shoulder a pat with a small chuckle. "You're dealing with a Holmes," he pointed out. "You won't get a normal night in if you wanted to."

Greg waved his arms out in agreement, almost hitting John in the face. "Did you know I told Mycroft that," he paused, taking another gulp, "I liked his cookie." He started laughing hysterically. "I mean cooking. I don't think he believed me though. It's really horrendous." He slipped further down on the couch so he was resting his chin on his chest. "Did you know my wife was cheating on me?"

John sighed; he slapped his friend's shoulder good heartily. "What brought that on?" he asked. They all figured out, well Mycroft knew from the beginning, seven months after Greg died.

Greg sat forward and invaded John's personal space. "Is Mycroft cheating on me?" he asked seriously.

John backed up, trying to swipe away the smell of alcohol that covered Lestrade's breath. "You're drunk," he pointed out. "I think it's for you to sleep."

Greg groaned and curled up into a ball on the couch. "I'm not moving," he told him forcefully. "I'm waiting for My."

John let out a breath. He gave his shoulder another pat before leaving the now snoring man alone on the couch.

**789**

Mycroft wanted to get out of the office. It was getting too cramped with all the officials trying to get the problem fixed. He looked at the wall clock over everyone's head and cursed himself on the inside. It was past four o'clock in the morning.

"Mr. Holmes I think we should just send the works out to the lines, and have them try to fix the lines while people are still coming. It won't harm them," someone suggested.

"We're still risking overpopulating the earth," someone yelled at him. "We need to stop them from going through the stages."

"And we can't do that," Ian yelled at the official that just called out. "Mr. Holmes I think we should send down the workers to earth and try to physically stop the souls from coming."

Mycroft sighed; it was the first good idea all night. "I agree Mr. Munching," he told him. He stood up abruptly and that caused everyone to stop. "We're sending the workers so they could stop the souls themselves."

"Workers can't go to earth," another official hollered. "Only one of us can go."

Ian opened his mouth but Mycroft cut him off. "I'll go," he told them. "I'll work down there and stop the souls from coming up here and only letting a few up. Meeting dismissed." He grabbed his umbrella and made his way out of the throng of people crowding in his office.

**789**

Mycroft walked into the living room and saw Greg snoring loudly on the couch. "He's been drinking hasn't he?" he asked John, who he knew was sitting up in his room waiting for him. "He always snores when he's been drinking," he mumbled to himself.

John walked out and gave the Holmes a disappointed look. "Welcome home," he said.

"I had work," Mycroft told him smoothly. He took off his jacket and hung it up. He turned to John again with a slight smile on his face. "I get to go to earth."

John's jaw dropped, he covered it with his hand. "You're kidding me," he told him. "Are you really going to earth?" Mycroft nodded, not even trying to hide his glee. "Will you be able to interact with, you know people?"

Mycroft lowered his voice and said, "It's against the law, but I can get pass it somehow." He walked over to Greg and sat on the edge of the couch with his hand on his shoulder. "I can write a note and leave it behind for Sherlock, and hopes he gets it. Something that sounds like it was written before we died."

"Oh god," John breathed out. "I'll get to say something to Sherlock. I can tell him I love him." He looked like he was going to start crying. "When are you going?"

"Next week," Mycroft told him, "so get writing."

**Well yeah, I don't know what's happening right now. I really hope you guys liked it. Please review, it will make my day, unless it's bad then that won't make my day but they are welcome, so whatever you want to tell me you can. BYE!**


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